Copyright, 1899, by Henry Altemus.
 
 ALPHONSE DAUDET 
 
 LA BELLE 
 
 NIVERNAISE 
 
 THE STORY OF AN OLD BOAT 
 AND HER CREW 
 
 
 
 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY 
 
 V
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. A HASH ACT 5 
 
 II. THE BELLE NIVERNAISE 45 
 
 III. UNDER WAY 63 
 
 IV. LIFE is HARD 91 
 
 V. MAUGENDRE'S AMBITIONS . . 127 
 
 2227599
 
 LA BELLE NIVERNAISE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A RASH ACT 
 
 THE street Des Enfants-Rouges is in 
 the Temple quarter a very narrow 
 street, with stagnant gutters and pud- 
 dles of black mud, with foul water and 
 mouldy smells pouring from its gaping 
 passages. The houses on each side are 
 very lofty, and have barrack-like win- 
 dows, that show no curtains behind their 
 dirty panes. These are common lodg- 
 ing-houses, and dwellings of artisans, of 
 day-laborers, and of men who work at 
 
 5
 
 6 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 their trade in their own rooms. There 
 are shops on the ground floor ; many 
 pork-dealers, wine-retailers, vendors of 
 chestnuts, bakers of coarse bread, 
 butchers displaying viands of repulsive 
 tints. In this street you see no car- 
 riages, no flounced gowns, no elegant 
 loungers on the pavement; but there are 
 costermongers crying the refuse of the 
 market-places, and a throng of work- 
 men crowding out of the factories with 
 their blouses rolled up under their arms. 
 This is the eighth of the month, the 
 day when poor people pay their rents, 
 the day when landlords who are tired of 
 waiting any longer turn Want out of 
 doors. On this day you see removal 
 carts going past with piles of iron bed-
 
 A Rash Act. 9 
 
 steads, torn mattresses, kitchen utensils, 
 and lame tables rearing up their legs in 
 the air; and with not even a handful of 
 straw to pack the wretched things, dam- 
 aged and worn out as they are by being 
 knocked about on dirty staircases, and 
 tumbled down from attic to basement. 
 
 It is now getting dark, and one after 
 another the gas-lamps are lighted, and 
 send their reflections from the gutters 
 and the shop windows. The passers-by, 
 however, hasten onward; for the fog 
 is chilly. 
 
 But there, in a warm, comfortable 
 wine-shop, is the honest old bargeman, 
 Louveau, leaning against the counter, 
 and taking a friendly glass with the 
 joiner from La Villette. The barge-
 
 10 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 man's big, weather-beaten face dilates 
 into a hearty laugh, that makes the cop- 
 per rings in his ears shake again, as he 
 exclaims: 
 
 " So it's settled, friend Dubac, that 
 you take my load of timber at the price 
 I have named." 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 " Your good health." 
 
 " Here's to yours." 
 
 They clink their glasses together, and 
 Louveau drinks with his head thrown 
 back and his eyes half closed, smacking 
 his lips in order to taste better the flavor 
 of his white wine. 
 
 It can't be helped, look you, but every 
 one has his failing; and white wine is 
 the special weakness of our friend Lou-
 
 A Rash Act. 11 
 
 veau. Not that he is a drunkard. Far 
 from it. Indeed, his wife, who is a 
 woman of sense, would not allow fu& 
 dling; but when one has to live like our 
 bargeman, with his feet in the water, 
 and his pate in the sun, it is quite neces- 
 sary to quaff off a glass now and then. 
 
 Louvean is getting more and more 
 elated; and he smiles at the shining zinc 
 counter which he now sees rather in- 
 distinctly for it brings to his mind the 
 heap of new, bright coins he will pocket 
 to-morrow when he delivers his timber. 
 
 After a parting glass, and a shake of 
 the hands, our friends separate. 
 
 " To-morrow without fail ? " 
 
 " You may depend on me." 
 
 Louveau, at least, will not fail to keep
 
 12 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 the appointment. The bargain is too 
 good, and has been too hard driven for 
 him to be behind. 
 
 So in high glee, our bargeman turns 
 down towards the Seine, rolling his 
 shoulders and elbowing his way along, 
 with the exuberant delight of a school- 
 boy who has a franc piece in his pocket. 
 
 What will mother Louveau say the 
 wife with a head-piece when she learns 
 that her husband has sold his timber 
 right off, and that at a good profit 2 
 Two or three more bargains like this, and 
 then they can afford to buy a new boat 
 and drop the Belle Nivernaise, for she is 
 beginning to get much too leaky. Not 
 that she is to blame for that, for she was 
 a fine boat when she was new; only, you
 
 A Eash Act. 13 
 
 see, everything gets old and goes to de- 
 cay ; and Louveau himself feels that 
 even he is not now as active as when he 
 used to assist in steering the timber-rafts 
 on the Marne. 
 
 But what is going on down there ? 
 The gossips are collected before a door, 
 and people are stopping, and engaging 
 in conversation, while the policeman 
 standing in the middle of the gathering 
 is writing something in his note-book. 
 Like everybody else, our bargeman 
 crosses the road to satisfy his curiosity, 
 and see whether a dog has been run 
 over, or a vehicle has stuck fast, or a 
 tipsy man has fallen into the gutter, or 
 what other equally uninteresting event 
 has occurred. Something different this
 
 14 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 time! A small child with disordered 
 hair, and cheeks all over jam, is sitting 
 on a wooden chair, rubbing his eyes with 
 his hands, and crying. The tears that 
 have streamed down his rather dirty 
 face have left upon it fantastically 
 shaped marks. The officer is question- 
 ing the little fellow, with a calm and 
 dignified air, as if he were examining a 
 prisoner, and he is taking notes of the 
 answers. 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Totor." 
 
 " Victor What ? " 
 
 Xo answer; only the poor little brat 
 cried more, and sobbed " Mamma ! 
 Mamma ! " 
 
 At this moment, a very plain and uri-
 
 A Rash Act. 15 
 
 tidy woman of the laboring class was 
 passing by, dragging her two children 
 after her. She advanced through the 
 group, and asked the police-officer to 
 allow her to try what she could do. She 
 knelt down, wiped the little fellow's 
 nose, dried his eyes, and kissed his sticky 
 cheeks. 
 
 " What is your mammy's name, my 
 dear ? " 
 
 He did not know. Then the police- 
 man addressed himself to one of the 
 neighbors: 
 
 " Xow you should know something 
 about these people, as you are the door- 
 keeper." 
 
 Xo, he had never heard their name, 
 and then there were so many tenants
 
 16 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 going backwards and forwards in the 
 house. All that could be ascertained 
 was that they had lived there for a 
 month, that they had never paid a farth- 
 ing of rent, that the landlord had just 
 turned them out, and that it was a good 
 riddance. 
 
 " What did they do ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all." 
 
 The father and mother used to spend 
 the day in drinking, and the evening in 
 fighting. They never agreed together 
 in anything, except in thrashing their 
 other children, two lads that used to beg 
 in the streets, and steal things there ex- 
 posed for sale. A nice family, as you 
 may believe.
 
 A Rash Act. 17 
 
 " Do you think they will come to look 
 for their child ? " 
 
 " I am sure they will not." 
 
 The removal had, in fact, afforded 
 them an opportunity of abandoning the 
 child. That was not the first time such 
 a thing had happened on the term days. 
 
 "Did nobody see the parents leav- 
 ing ? " asked the policeman. 
 
 Yes ! they went away in the morning, 
 the husband pushing the hand-cart, 
 while his wife carried a package in her 
 apron, and the two lads had nothing, but 
 their hands in their pockets. 
 
 The passers-by, after indignantly ex- 
 claiming that these people should be 
 caught, continued on their way. 
 
 The poor little brat had been there 
 
 2
 
 18 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 since noon, when his mother had set him 
 in the chair and told him to " be good," 
 and all that time he had been waiting. 
 But when he began to cry for hunger, 
 the fruit-woman over the way had given 
 him a slice of bread with jam on it. 
 This had long ago been devoured, and 
 the little wretch was beginning to cry 
 again. 
 
 The poor innocent, too, was nearly 
 dying with fear. He was afraid of the 
 dogs prowling round him afraid of the 
 night that was coming on afraid of the 
 strangers talking to him and his little 
 heart was beating violently in his 
 bosom, like that of an expiring bird. 
 
 As the crowd round him continued to 
 increase, the police officer, tired of the
 
 A Rash Act. 19 
 
 scene, took the child by the hand to lead 
 him to the station. 
 
 " Come now ; does anybody claim 
 him ? " 
 
 " Stop a moment ! " 
 
 Every one turned round, and saw a 
 great ruddy face wearing a silly smile 
 that extended from one copper-ringed 
 ear to the other. 
 
 " Stop a minute ! if nobody wants 
 him, I will take him myself." 
 
 Loud exclamations burst from the 
 crowd : " Well done,"" That's right," 
 - " You are a good fellow." 
 
 Old Louveau, excited by the white 
 wine, the success of his bargain, and the 
 general approbation, stood with folded
 
 20 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 arms in the middle of the admiring 
 circle. 
 
 " Oh, it's a simple matter." 
 
 Those who were curious went on with 
 him to the police magistrate's, without 
 letting his enthusiasm cool. When lie 
 got there he was asked the questions 
 usual in such cases: 
 
 " Your name ? " 
 
 " Francis Louveau, your Honor, a 
 married man, and if I may say so, well 
 married, to a wife with a head-piece. 
 And that is lucky for me, your Honor, 
 for you see I am not very clever myself, 
 ha! ha! not very clever. I'm not an 
 eagle. ' Francis is not an eagle/ my 
 wife says." 
 
 He had never before been so elo-
 
 A Rash Act. 21 
 
 quent, but now he felt his tongue loos- 
 ened, and all the assurance of a man 
 who had just concluded a good bargain 
 and who had drunk a bottle of white 
 wine. 
 
 " Your occupation ? " 
 
 "Bargeman, your Honor, master of 
 the Belle Nivernaise, rather a rough 
 boat, but manned by a smartish crew. 
 Ah ! now mine is a famous crew. . . . 
 Ask the lock-keepers all the way from 
 the Pont Marie to Clamecy. . . . Has 
 your Honor ever been there, at Cla- 
 mecy ? " 
 
 The people about him were smiling, 
 but Louveau went on, spluttering and 
 clipping short his syllables. 
 
 " Well, now, Clamecy is a nice place,
 
 22 La Belle XivernaLsc. 
 
 if you like! It's wooded from top to 
 bottom; and with good wood, workable 
 wood; all the joiners know that. . . . 
 It is there I buy my timber. He ! he ! I 
 am famous for my timber. I see a thing 
 at a glance, look you! Xot because I 
 am clever; as my wife says, I am by no 
 means an eagle: but in fact I do see a 
 thing at a glance. . . . For instance, 
 now, I take a tree as thick as you ask- 
 ing your Honor's pardon and I lap a 
 string round it, this way. . . ." 
 
 He had drawn a cord from his pocket, 
 and seizing hold of the officer standing 
 by, had encircled him with it. 
 
 The officer struggled to disentangle 
 himself: 
 
 " Please leave me alone."
 
 A Rash Act. 23 
 
 " Yes. . . yes. . . I want to show 
 his Honor how I pass the string round 
 it, and then when I have the girth, I 
 multiply it by ... I multiply by ... 
 I forget now what I multiply by ... 
 My wife does the calculation. She has 
 a good head-piece, has my wife." 
 
 The audience was highly amused, and 
 the magistrate himself could not refrain 
 from smiling behind his table. When 
 the laughter had subsided a little, he 
 asked : 
 
 " What will you make of this child?" 
 
 " Certainly not a gentleman. We 
 have never had a gentleman in our 
 family. But he shall be a bargeman, a 
 smart barge lad, like the rest." 
 
 " Have you any children ? "
 
 24 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 " I should think I have ! I have one 
 able to walk, another at the breast, and 
 there is a third one coming. That's not 
 so bad, is it, for a man who is not an 
 eagle ? With this one there will be 
 four; but pooh! where there is enough 
 for three, there is enough for four. 
 Packed a little closer, that's all. One 
 must pull one's belt a little tighter and 
 try to get more for one's wood." 
 
 And his laughter again shook the oar- 
 rings, as he turned a complacent look on 
 those present. 
 
 A big book was put before him, but 
 as he could not write he had to sign with 
 a cross. 
 
 The magistrate thereupon gave the 
 lost child up to him.
 
 A Hash Act. 25 
 
 " Take the little fellow away, Francis 
 Louveau, and mind you bring him up 
 well. If any inquiries are made about 
 him, I will let you know. But it is not 
 likely that his parents will ever claim 
 him. As for you, you seem to be an 
 honest man, and I have confidence in 
 you. Always be guided by your wife; 
 and now good-bye, and don't you take 
 too much white wine." 
 
 A dark night, a cold fog, a lot of un- 
 concerned people hurrying away home 
 that all tends to quickly bring a man 
 to his senses. 
 
 Hardly had our bargeman got into 
 the street by himself, leading by the 
 hand the child he had taken under his 
 care, and carrying his stamped docu-
 
 26 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 ment in his pocket, than he felt his en- 
 thusiasm suddenly cool down and he be- 
 came aware of the serious import of his 
 act. 
 
 Is he then always to be like this ? 
 Always to be a simpleton and a brag- 
 gart ? Why could not he go on his way 
 like other people without meddling in 
 what did not concern him ? 
 
 Now, for the first time, he pictured to 
 himself the wrath of mother Louveau. 
 Just fancy the kind of reception he will 
 meet with ! 
 
 What a dreadful thing it is for a sim- 
 ple, kind-hearted man to have a shrewd 
 wife! He would never have the cour- 
 age to go home, and yet he dared not go
 
 A Rash Act. 29 
 
 back to the police magistrate's. What- 
 ever should he do ? 
 
 They went on through the fog, Lou- 
 veau gesticulating and talking to him- 
 self. He was getting a speech ready. 
 
 Victor was dragging his shoes in the 
 mud and letting himself be pulled along 
 like a dead weight. At length, he could 
 go no farther, and then Louveau 
 stopped, lifted him up and carried him, 
 wrapping his overall round him. The 
 twining of the little arms round his neck 
 caused our bargeman to resume his jour- 
 ney with a rather better heart. 
 
 Faith, bad as it was, he would run the 
 risk. If mother Louveau turned them 
 out, there would still be time to carry 
 the little brat back to the police-office;
 
 30 La Belle ]^ivernaise. 
 
 but if she would keep him only for one 
 night, he would be the gainer by a good 
 meal. 
 
 They came to the Bridge of Auster- 
 litz, where the Belle Nivernaise was 
 moored, and the faint, pleasant odor 
 from the loads of newly-cut wood filled 
 the night air. A whole fleet of boats 
 was rocking in the dark shade of the 
 river's bank, and the movement of the 
 water made the lamps swing and the 
 chains grate together. 
 
 To get to his boat, Louveau had to 
 pass over two lighters connected by 
 planks. He w r ent on with timid steps 
 and trembling limbs, hampered by the 
 hug of the child's arms about his neck. 
 
 The night was extremely dark, and
 
 31
 
 A Rash Act. 33 
 
 the only signs of life about the Belle 
 Nivernaise were the little lamp shining 
 in the cabin window, and the ray of 
 light that found its way beneath the 
 door. 
 
 Mother Louveau's voice was heard 
 chiding the children, while she was 
 cooking the evening meal: 
 
 " Be quiet, Clara ! " 
 
 It was now too late for retreat, and 
 the bargeman pushed the door open. 
 Mother Louveau had her back towards 
 it, and was leaning over her frying-pan, 
 but she knew his footstep, and without 
 turning round, said: 
 
 " Is it you, Francis ? How late you 
 are in getting back ! " 
 
 The frying potatoes were dancing 
 
 3
 
 34 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 about in the crackling oil; and as the 
 steam from the pan passed towards the 
 open door, it dimmed the panes of the 
 cabin windows. 
 
 Francis had put the poor brat on the 
 floor, and the little fellow, impressed by 
 the warmth of the place, and feeling his 
 reddened fingers restored to animation, 
 smiled and said in a rather soft and 
 sweet voice: 
 
 " Warm here. . . ." 
 
 Mother Louveau turned round, and, 
 pointing to the ragged child standing in 
 the middle of the room, asked her hus- 
 band in angry tones: 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 But even in the best of households 
 there are such moments.
 
 A Rash Act. 35 
 
 " A surprise for you, he ! he ! a sur- 
 prise." 
 
 The bargeman grinned from ear to 
 ear, in order to keep himself in counte- 
 nance; but he very much wished that he 
 was still in the street. However, as his 
 wife was waiting for an explanation, 
 and glaring at him with a dreadful look, 
 he faltered out his story in a jumbled 
 way, with the supplicating eyes of a dog 
 threatened with the whip. 
 
 His parents had abandoned him, and 
 he had found him crying on the pave- 
 ment. Some one had asked if anybody 
 would take him. He said he would. 
 And the police magistrate had told him 
 he might take him away. 
 
 " Didn't he, my child ? "
 
 36 La Belle Xi 
 
 Then the storm burst upon him: 
 
 " You are' mad, or drunk ! Did ever 
 any one hear tell of such a piece of 
 folly! I suppose you want us to die of 
 starvation ? Do you think we are too 
 well off ? That we have too much to 
 eat ? Too much room to lie in ? " 
 
 Francis contemplated his shoes with- 
 out answering a word. 
 
 " Think of yourself, you wretch, and 
 think of us ! Your boat is holed like 
 my skimmer, and yet you must go and 
 amuse yourself by picking up other peo- 
 ple's children out of the gutter ! " 
 
 But the poor fellow knew all that too 
 well already, and did not attempt to 
 deny it. He bowed his head like a
 
 A Rash Act. 37 
 
 criminal listening to the statement of 
 his guilt. 
 
 " You will do me the favor of taking 
 that child back to the police magistrate, 
 and if any objections are made about re- 
 ceiving him back again, you must say 
 that your wife won't have him. Do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 She advanced toward him, pan in 
 hand, with a threatening gesture, and 
 the bargeman promised to do all she 
 wished. 
 
 " Come, now, don't get vexed. I 
 thought I was doing right. I have made 
 a mistake. That's enough. Must he be 
 taken back at once ? " 
 
 Her good man's submission softened 
 mother Louveau's heart. Perhaps, also,
 
 38 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 there arose in her mind the vision of a 
 child of her own, lost and alone at night, 
 stretching out its hands towards the 
 passers-by. 
 
 She turned to put her pan on the fire, 
 and said in a testy tone: 
 
 " It cannot be done to-night, for the 
 office is closed. And now that yon have 
 brought him, you cannot set him down 
 again on the pavement. He shall re; 
 main to-night; but to-morrow morn- 
 ing. . ." 
 
 Mother Louveau was so enraged that 
 she poked the fire first with one hand 
 and then with the other. 
 
 " But I vow that to-morrow you shall 
 rid me of him! " 
 
 There was silence.
 
 A Rash Act. 39 
 
 The housewife laid the table sav- 
 agely, knocking the glasses together, and 
 dashing the forks down. Clara was 
 frightened, and kept very quiet in one 
 corner. 
 
 The baby was whining on the bed, 
 and the lost child was looking with 
 fronder at the cinders in the stove get- 
 ting red hot. Perhaps he had never 
 seen a fire in all his life before. 
 
 There was, however, another pleasure 
 in store for him, when lie was put to the 
 table with a napkin round his neck, and 
 a heap of potatoes on his plate. He ate 
 like a robin-redbreast picking crumbs off 
 the snow. 
 
 Mother Louveau helped him furiously, 
 but at heart she was a little bit touched
 
 40 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 by the appetite of the starved child. Lit- 
 tle Clara was delighted, and stroked him 
 with her spoon. Louveau was dismayed 
 and dared not lift an eye. 
 
 When she had removed the table 
 things and put her children to bed, 
 mother Louveau seated herself near the 
 fire, and took the child between her 
 knees to give him a little wash. 
 
 "We can't put him to bed in that 
 dirty state." 
 
 I lay he had never before seen either 
 sponge or comb. Under her hands the 
 poor child twirled round like a top. 
 
 But when once he had been washed 
 and tidied up, the little lad did not look 
 bad, with his pink poodle-like nose, and 
 hands as plump as rosy apples.
 
 A Rash Act. 41 
 
 Mother Louveau looked upon her 
 work with a certain degree of satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 " I wonder how old he is ? " 
 
 Francis laid down his pipe, delighted 
 once more to be an actor in the scene. 
 This was the first time he had been 
 spoken to all the evening, and a ques- 
 tion addressed to him was almost like a 
 recall to grace. He rose up and drew 
 his cords from his pocket. 
 
 " How old? He! he! I'll tell you in 
 a minute." 
 
 He took the little fellow in his arms, 
 and wound lines round him as he did 
 to the tree at Clamecy. 
 
 Mother Louveau looked on with 
 amazement.
 
 42 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 " Whatever are you doing ? " 
 " I am taking his dimensions." 
 She snatched the cord from his hands, 
 and flung it to the other end of the 
 apartment. 
 
 " My good man, how silly you make 
 yourself with these mad tricks! The 
 child is not a young tree." 
 
 No chance for you, this evening, poor 
 Francis! Quite abashed he beats a re- 
 treat, whilst mother Louveau puts the 
 little one to bed in Clara's cot. 
 
 The little girl is sleeping with closed 
 hands and taking up all the room. She 
 is vaguely conscious that something is 
 put beside her, stretches out her arms, 
 pushes her neighbor into a corner, digs
 
 A Rash Act. 43 
 
 her elbows into his eyes, turns over and 
 goes to sleep again. 
 
 In the meantime the lamp has been 
 blown out, and the Seine rippling round 
 the boat gently rocks the wooden habita- 
 tion. 
 
 The poor cold child feels a gentle 
 warmth steal over him, and he falls 
 asleep with the new sensation of some- 
 thing like a caressing hand upon his 
 head, just as his eyes are closing.
 
 CHAPTEE II 
 
 THE BELLE NIVERNAISE 
 
 MADEMOISELLE CLARA used always to 
 awake early, and this morning she was 
 surprised at not seeing her mother in the 
 cabin, and at finding another head on 
 the pillow beside her. She rubbed her 
 eyes with her little fingers, then took 
 hold of her bedfellow by the hair and 
 shook him. 
 
 Poor " Totor " was roused by the 
 strangest sensations, for roguish fingers 
 were teasing him by tickling his neck 
 and seizing hold of his nose. 
 
 He cast his wondering eyes round 
 about him, and was quite surprised that 
 
 45
 
 46 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 his dream still continued. Above them 
 there was a creaking of footsteps, and a 
 rumbling sound caused by the unload- 
 ing of the planks upon the quay. 
 
 Mademoiselle Clara seemed greatly 
 perplexed. She pointed her little finder 
 to the ceiling with a gesture that seemed 
 to ask her friend: 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 It was the delivery of the wood be- 
 ginning. Dubac, the joiner from La 
 Villette, had come at six o'clock with hi- 
 horse and cart, and Louveau had very 
 quickly set to work, with a hitherto un- 
 known ardor. 
 
 The good fellow had not closed an rye 
 all night for thinking that he would 
 have to take that child, who had been so
 
 The Belle Xivernaise. 49 
 
 cold and hungry, back to the police- 
 magistrate. 
 
 He expected to have a scene in the 
 morning again; but mother Louveau had 
 some other notions in her head, for she 
 did not mention Victor to him; and 
 Francis thought that much might be 
 gained by postponing the time for ex- 
 planations. 
 
 He was striving to efface himself, and 
 to escape from his wife's view, and he 
 was working with all his might, lest 
 mother Louveau should see him idle, and 
 should call out to him : 
 
 " Come now, as you have nothing to 
 do, take the little boy back where you 
 found him." 
 
 And he did work. The pile of planks 
 
 4
 
 50 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 was visibly diminishing. Dubac had 
 already made three journeys, and mother 
 Louveau, standing on the gangway with 
 her nursling on her arm, had her time 
 fully taken up counting the lots as they 
 passed. 
 
 Working with a will, Francis selected 
 for his burdens rafters as long as masts 
 and as thick as walls. If the beam were 
 too heavy, he called the Crew to help 
 him to load. 
 
 The Crew was a boatman with a 
 wooden leg, and he alone formed the 
 personal equipment of the Belle Niver- 
 naise. He had been picked up from 
 charity, and retained from habit. 
 
 This maimed one would prop himself 
 up on his peg, or raise up the log with
 
 The Belle Nivernaise. 51 
 
 great effort, and Loirveau, bending be- 
 neath the load, with his belt tight round 
 his waist, would pass slowly over the 
 movable bridge. 
 
 How could a man so busily occupied 
 be interrupted in his work? Mother 
 Louveau could not think of it. She 
 went up and down on the gangway, in- 
 tent only on Mimile who was at her 
 breast. 
 
 He was always thirsty, that Mimile, 
 like his father. But Louveau, thirsty ? 
 ... he certainly was not so to-day. He 
 had been working since morning, and 
 the question of white wine had never 
 been raised. He had not even taken 
 breathing time, or wiped his brow, or 
 drunk a drop at the edge of a counter.
 
 52 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 Even when, after a little, Dubac pro- 
 posed to go and have a glass, Francis 
 heroically replied: 
 
 "We shall have time later on." 
 
 Kef use a glass! the housewife could 
 not understand it at all; this could not 
 be her Louveau, but must be some sub- 
 stitute. 
 
 Her Clara now seems a changeling 
 also, for eleven o'clock has struck, and 
 the little girl, who would never remain 
 in bed, has not stirred the whole morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Mother Louveau hastens into the 
 cabin to see what is going on. Francis 
 remains on deck, swinging his arms, and 
 gasping for breath, as if he had just re- 
 ceived in his stomach a blow from a joist.
 
 The Belle Mvernaise. 53 
 
 Now for it! His wife has bethought 
 herself of Victor; she is going to bring 
 him on deck, and he must start for the 
 police office. . . . But 'no; mother Lou- 
 veau reappears all alone. She is laugh- 
 ing and she beckons to him : 
 
 "Just come and look here, it is so 
 funny ! " 
 
 The good man cannot understand this 
 sudden hilarity, and he follows her like 
 an automaton, the fulness of his emo- 
 tion almost depriving him of the use of 
 his legs. 
 
 The two monkeys were sitting on the 
 edge of the bed, in their shirts, and with 
 bare feet. They had possessed them- 
 selves of the bowl of soup that the 
 mother left within reach of their little
 
 54 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 arms when she got up. As there was 
 only one spoon for the two mouths, they 
 were cramming each other in turns, like 
 fledglings in a nest; and Clara, who 
 used always to be averse to taking her 
 soup, was laughing and stretching out 
 her mo.uth for the spoon. Although 
 some crumbs of bread might have got 
 into eyes or ears, the two babies had 
 broken nothing, had upset nothing, and 
 they were amusing themselves so heart- 
 ily that it was impossible to find fault 
 with them. 
 
 Mother Louveau continued to laugh. 
 
 "As they are agreeing so well as that, 
 we need not trouble ourselves about 
 them." 
 
 Francis immediately returned to his
 
 The Belle Mvernaise. 55 
 
 work, quite delighted with the turn 
 things were taking. 
 
 Usually, at the unloading time, he 
 would take a rest during the day; that 
 is to say, he would go the round of all 
 the bargemen's taverns, from the Point- 
 du-Jour to the Quai de Bercy. So that 
 the unloading used to drag on for a 
 whole week, during which mother Lou- 
 veau's wrath would continue unap- 
 peased. 
 
 But this time there was no idleness, 
 no white wine, but a passionate desire to 
 do well by ardent and sustained labor. 
 
 On his part the little fellow, as if he 
 understood that his cause must be won, 
 was doing all that he possibly could to 
 amuse Clara.
 
 56 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 For the first time in her life, this lit- 
 tle girl passed a whole day without tears, 
 without dashing herself about, without 
 making holes in her stockings. Her 
 companion amused her, soothed her. He 
 was always willing to make a sacrifice of 
 his hair to stop Clara's tears on the edges 
 of her eyelids. 
 
 And she tugged at her big friend's 
 rough poll by handfuls, teasing him like 
 a pug-dog nipping a poodle. 
 
 Mother Louveau observed all this 
 from a distance, and inwardly remark^! 
 that this child was just as useful as a lit- 
 tle nurse. So they might keep Victor 
 until the unloading was finished. There 
 would be time to take him back after- 
 wards, just before their departure.
 
 The Belle Xivernaise. 57 
 
 For this reason, she did not that even- 
 ing make any allusion to sending him 
 back, but gorged him with potatoes, and 
 put him to bed as on the night before. 
 
 One would have thought that Lou- 
 veau's little friend was a member of the 
 family, and to see the way Clara put her 
 arm round his neck as she went to sleep, 
 would lead one to suppose that she had 
 taken him under her special protection. 
 
 The unloading of the Belle Nivernaise 
 lasted three days. Three days of im- 
 petuous labor, without any relaxation, 
 without any break. About midday the 
 last cart was laden and the boat was 
 empty. , 
 
 They could not take the tug until the 
 morrow, and Francis passed the whole
 
 58 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 day between decks, repairing the planks, 
 but still haunted by those words that for 
 three days had been ringing in his ear- : 
 
 " Take him back to the police-magis- 
 trate." 
 
 Ah! that magistrate! He was not 
 more dreaded in the house of wicked Mr. 
 Punch than he was in the cabin of the 
 Belle Nivernaise. He had become a 
 kind of bogle that mother Louveau 
 availed herself of to keep Clara quiet. 
 
 Every time she pronounced that name 
 of fear, the little fellow fixed upon her 
 the restless eyes of a child who has too 
 early had experience of suffering. 
 
 He vaguely understood all that this 
 word meant of dangers to come. The 
 magistrate ! That meant no more
 
 The Belle Nivernaise. 59 
 
 Clara, no more caresses, no more 
 warmth, no more potatoes; but a return 
 to a cheerless life, to days without bread, 
 to slumbers without bed, to awakening 
 in the morning without kisses. 
 
 How he therefore clung to mother 
 Louveau's skirts on the eve of the boat's 
 departure! when Francis, in a trem- 
 bling voice, asked : 
 
 " Come now, shall we take him back, 
 yes or no ? " 
 
 Mother Louveau did not answer. You 
 would even fancy she was thinking of 
 some pretext for keeping Victor. 
 
 As for Clara, she rolled on the floor, 
 choking with sobs, and determined to 
 have convulsions if she were separated 
 from her friend.
 
 CO La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 Then the wife with a head-piece spoke 
 seriously : 
 
 " My good man, you have done a fool- 
 ish act, as usual. And now you have to 
 pay for it. This child has become at- 
 tached to us, Clara is fond of him, and 
 every one would be grieved to see him 
 leave. I am going to try and keep him, 
 but I will have each one to bear a part. 
 The first time that Clara works herself 
 up into a fit of passion,' or that you get 
 drunk, I shall take him back to the 
 police-magistrate's." 
 
 Old Louveau became radiant. 
 
 It was done. He would drink no 
 more. 
 
 He smiled right up to his ear-rings 
 and sang away as he coiled his cable on
 
 The Belle Xirernaise. 61 
 
 the deck, whilst the tug towed along the 
 Belle Nivernaise together with quite a 
 fleet of other boats.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 UNDER WAY 
 
 VICTOR was under way. Under way 
 for the suburban country, where the 
 water mirrors little houses and green gar- 
 dens under way for the white land of 
 the chalk hills under way beside the 
 flagged, resounding towing-paths un- 
 der way for the uplands, for the canal of 
 the Yonne, slumbering within its locks 
 under way for the verdure of winter, 
 and for the woods of Morvan. 
 
 Francis leant against the tiller of his 
 boat, firm in his resolution not to drink, 
 and turned a deaf ear to the invitations 
 of the lock-keepers, and of the wine- 
 
 63
 
 64 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 dealers, who were astonished to see him 
 passing free. He was obliged to cling 
 to the tiller to keep the Belle Nivernaise 
 from going alongside of the taverns. 
 The old boat, from the time she had 
 made the same voyage, seemed as if ^he 
 knew the stations, and wanted to stop at 
 them of her own accord, like an omnibus 
 horse. 
 
 The Crew was perched on one leg in 
 the prow, where, handling an immense 
 boat-hook in a melancholy way, he 
 pushed back the bushes, rounded the 
 turns, and grappled the locks. 
 
 It was not much work he used to do, 
 although the noise of his wooden leg on 
 the deck might be heard day and night. 
 
 Resigned and silent, he was one of
 
 to
 
 Under Way. 67 
 
 those for whom everything in life had 
 gone wrong. A school-fellow had caused 
 him the loss of an eye; an axe had lamed 
 him at the saw-mill; a vat had scalded 
 him at the sugar refinery. 
 
 He would have been a beggar dying 
 of hunger at the edge of a ditch, if Lou- 
 veau who always saw a thing at a 
 glance had not, as he was coming out 
 of the hospital, engaged him to help in 
 working the boat. 
 
 This was, at the time, the occasion of 
 a great quarrel exactly as for Victor. 
 The wife with a head-piece was vexed, 
 whereupon Louveau gave in. 
 
 In the end, the Crew remained, and at 
 this time he formed part of the house-
 
 68 La Belle Xivcrnaise. 
 
 hold of the Belle Nivernaise, on the 
 same footing as the cat and the raven. 
 
 Old Louveau steered so exactly, and 
 the Crew worked the boat so well, that 
 after having ascended the river and the 
 canals, the Belle Nivernaise, twelve 
 days after her departure from Paris, got 
 moored at the bridge of Corbigny, there 
 to rest peacefully in her winter sleep. 
 
 From December to the end of Febru- 
 ary, the bargemen make no voyages, but 
 repair their boats, and look through the 
 forests to buy the spring cuttings as 
 they stand. 
 
 As wood is cheap, they keep good fires 
 in the cabins; and if the autumn sale has 
 been successful, this idle time is made 
 into a very enjoyable holiday.
 
 Under Way. 69 
 
 The Belle Nivernaise was laid up for 
 wintering; that is to say, the rudder was 
 detached, the jury-mast was stowed 
 away between decks, and the whole 
 space was clear for playing and running 
 about on the upper deck. 
 
 What a change in his life for the 
 foundling! During all the voyage, he 
 had continued in a state of astonishment 
 and fear. He was like a cage-bird sur- 
 prised by being set free, that in the sud- 
 denness of the change, forgets its song 
 and its wings. Though too young to 
 enjoy the charms of the landscape 
 spread before his eyes, he had neverthe- 
 less been impressed by the grandeur of 
 that passage up the river between two 
 ever-changing horizons.
 
 70 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 Mother Louveau, seeing him shy and 
 silent, kept on all day saying: 
 
 " He is deaf and dumb." 
 
 But the little Parisian from the Tem- 
 ple district was not dumb! "When he 
 got to understand that he was not dream- 
 ing, that he should no more go back to 
 his garret, and that, in spite of mother 
 Louveau's threats, there was really not 
 much to fear from the police-magistrate, 
 his tongue was loosed. It was like the 
 blossoming of a plant grown in a cellar 
 and then put upon a window shelf. He 
 ceased to cower timidly down in corners 
 like a hunted ferret. His eyes, deeply 
 set under his projecting brow, lost their 
 uneasy restlessness, and although he re-
 
 Under Way. 71 
 
 rnained rather pale and had a thought- 
 ful look, he learned to laugh with Clara. 
 
 The little girl passionately loved her 
 play-fellow, as people do love each other 
 at that age for the pleasure of falling 
 out and making it up again. Although 
 she was as self-willed as a little donkey, 
 she had a very tender heart, and the 
 mention of the magistrate was enough 
 to make her do as she was bid. 
 
 They had hardly arrived at Corbigny, 
 when another sister came into the world. 
 Mimile was just eighteen months old, 
 and that made cots enough in the cabin 
 and work enough likewise; for, with 
 all the encumbrances they had, they 
 could not afford a servant. 
 
 Mother Louveau grumbled so much
 
 72 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 that the Crew's wooden leg quaked with 
 fear. But nobody in the place had any 
 pity for her. Even the peasants did not 
 hesitate to say what they thought about 
 it to the priest, who used to hold up the 
 bargeman as a pattern. 
 
 " Say what your Reverence likes, 
 there's no common sense in a man who 
 has three children of his own picking up 
 those of other people. But the Lou- 
 veaus have always been like that. They 
 are full of vanity and conceit, and no 
 advice you can give them will alter 
 them." 
 
 People did not wish them ill, but were 
 not sorry they had got a lesson. 
 
 The vicar was a kind, well-meaning 
 man, who easily adopted the opinions of
 
 Under Way. Y3 
 
 others, and always wound up by recol- 
 lecting some passage of Scripture, or 
 sentence from the Fathers, with which 
 to keep his own mind easy about his 
 sudden turns and changes. 
 
 " My parishioners are right," said he 
 to himself, as he passed his hand under 
 his badly shaven chin, " we must not 
 tempt divine Providence." 
 
 But as the Louveaus were, on the 
 whole, good honest people, he made his 
 pastoral call on them as usual. 
 
 He found mother Louveau cutting 
 breeches for Victor out of an old jacket, 
 for the little brat had brought no clothes 
 with him, and she could not bear rags 
 and tatters about her. 
 
 She placed a seat for his Reverence,
 
 74 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 and when he spoke to her about Victor, 
 hinting that with the influence of the 
 Bishop they might perhaps get him into 
 the orphanage at Autun, mother Lou- 
 veau who would speak her mind to 
 everybody, abruptly answered: 
 
 " The little fellow may be a burden to 
 poor folks like us, certainly; I think that 
 when he brought him home, Francis 
 gave one more proof that he is not an 
 eagle. I am not harder hearted than my 
 husband; if I had met Victor, I should 
 have been sorry for him, but yet I would 
 have left him where he was. But now 
 that we have taken him, it is not in or- 
 der to get rid of him; and if we should 
 some day find ourselves in a difficulty
 
 Under Way. 75 
 
 through him, we shall not go and ask 
 charity from anybody." 
 
 At this moment Victor came into the 
 cabin with Mimile in his arms. 
 
 The little monkey, angry at having 
 been weaned, was seeking his revenge by 
 refusing to be set down, and was show- 
 ing his teeth and biting everybody. 
 
 Touched by this sight, the vicar put 
 his hand on the foundling's head and 
 gravely remarked : 
 
 " God's blessing is on large families." 
 
 And away he went, delighted with 
 himself for having recollected a sentence 
 so appropriate to the situation. 
 
 Mother Louveau but told the truth 
 when she said that Victor was now one 
 of the family.
 
 76 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 While continually grumbling, and 
 talking about taking the little fellow 
 back to the police-magistrate's, this 
 woman with a head-piece was getting to 
 like the pale-faced child that clung so 
 persistently to her skirts. 
 
 When old Louveau thought they were 
 making too much of him, she always re- 
 plied : 
 
 " Then you should not have taken 
 him." 
 
 As soon as he was eight years of age, 
 she sent him to school with Clara. 
 
 Victor would always carry the books 
 and the basket. He would fight bravely 
 in defending their luncheon against the 
 unscrupulous appetites of the young 
 Morvandians.
 
 Under Way. 77 
 
 Xor did he show less spirit in his work 
 than in his fighting, and although he at- 
 tended the school in winter only, when 
 no voyages were made, he knew more 
 on his return than the little peasants, 
 who, dull and noisy as their wooden 
 shoes, would yawn over their alphabet 
 for twelve months together. 
 
 Victor and Clara used to come back 
 from the school through the forest, and 
 it amused the two children to see the 
 wood-cutters hewing down the trees. 
 
 As Victor was light and nimble, they 
 would get him to climb to the top of the 
 pines in order to fasten the rope that 
 served to pull them down. He would 
 appear smaller and smaller as he clam- 
 bered higher up, and when he got to the
 
 78 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 top, Clara would be very frightened. 
 But he was fearless, and would some- 
 times swing on a branch purposely to 
 plague her. 
 
 At other times, they would go to see 
 M. Maugendre in his wood-yard. The 
 wood-dealer was a thin man and as dry 
 as a stick. He lived alone, away from 
 the village, amid the forest. 
 
 Xobody ever knew him to have any 
 friends; and the curiosity of the village 
 had for a long time been balked by the 
 seclusion and reserve of the unknown, 
 who had come from the farthest part of 
 the Nievre to set up a wood-yard a \vuy 
 from others. 
 
 For six years he worked in all weath- 
 ers, never taking a holiday, and like a
 
 Under Way. 79 
 
 very drudge. Yet it was supposed he 
 had plenty of money, for he did a large 
 trade, and often went to Corbigny to 
 consult the notary about the investment 
 of his savings. 
 
 He once told the vicar that he was a 
 widower, but beyond this nothing was 
 known of him. 
 
 When Maugendre observed the chil- 
 dren coming he used to lay down his 
 saw, and leave his work to have a chat 
 with them. He took a great liking for 
 Victor, and taught him to cut hulls of 
 boats* out of splinters of wood. 
 
 He once said to him: 
 
 " You remind me so much of a child 
 I lost."
 
 80 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 Then, as if afraid he had told too 
 much, he added: 
 
 "Oh! it is a long time ago a vt-rv 
 long time ago." 
 
 Another day he said to Louveau : 
 
 " When you get tired of Victor give 
 him to me. I have no heirs, and I will 
 deny myself something to send him to 
 college in the town. He shall pass ex- 
 aminations, and be entered at the School 
 of Forestry." 
 
 But Francis was still in the flush of 
 his good action, and he declined. Mau- 
 gendre resolved to wait patiently until 
 the progressive increase of the Louveau 
 family, or some money difficulty, should 
 have put the bargeman out of conceit 
 with adoptions.
 
 Under Way. rti 
 
 It seemed as if Fate wished to grant 
 liis desires. For one might almost be- 
 lieve that ill-luck had embarked on board 
 the Belle Nivernaise at the same hour as 
 Victor. 
 
 ..From that moment everything went 
 wrong. The wood did not sell well. 
 The Crew always broke some limb on 
 the eve of the unloading. And at 
 length, one fine day, just as they were 
 setting out for Paris, mother Louveau 
 fell ill. 
 
 Francis nearly lost his senses amidst 
 the yelling of the little brats. He mis- 
 took soups for draughts, and draughts 
 for soups, and so annoyed the sick 
 woman by his stupidity, that he had to
 
 82 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 give up attending to her. and let Victor 
 doit 
 
 For the first time in his life, the barge- 
 man bought his wood by himself. It 
 
 
 
 was in vain he lapped his strings round 
 the trees, and took thirty-six times in 
 succession the same measure, for he 
 always went wrong in his calculations. 
 You know the famous calculation: 
 
 " I multiply by I multiply by . . ." 
 
 It was mother Louveau that knew how 
 to do that ! 
 
 He executed his orders all wrong, set 
 out for Paris in a very uneasy state of 
 mind, and fell in with a dishonest pur- 
 chaser, who took advantage of the cir- 
 cumstance to cheat him. 
 
 He came back to his boat with a rery
 
 Under Way. 83 
 
 full heart, sat down at the foot of the 
 bed, and said in a despairing tone: 
 
 " My dear, you must try to get well, 
 or we shall be ruined/' 
 
 Mother Louveau recovered slowly. 
 She strove against ill-fortune, and did 
 unheard-of things to make both ends 
 meet. " 
 
 If they had something to buy a new 
 boat with, they would have been able to 
 get their trade back again; but during 
 her illness they had expended all their 
 savings, and the profits were now going 
 to fill up the holes in the Belle Xiver- 
 naise, which was worn out. 
 
 Victor became a heavy burden for 
 them. He was no longer a child of four 
 years of age that could be dressed out of
 
 84 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 
 
 an old jacket, and his food never missed. 
 
 He was now twelve years of age, and 
 he ate like a man, although he remained 
 a thin, nervous child, such as they could 
 not think of requiring to handle tlio 
 boat-hook, when the Crew had broken 
 any limb. 
 
 Everything kept going from bad to 
 worse. On their last voyage they had 
 great difficulty in getting up the Seine 
 as far as Clamecy. The Belle Nivernaise 
 was letting in water at every part, and 
 patching up would no longer suffice; it 
 would be necessary to repair the entire 
 hull, or rather to put the vessel aside to 
 be broken up, and replace her by a new 
 one. 
 
 One evening in March, on the eve of
 
 Under Way. 85 
 
 getting under sail for Paris, as Louveau, 
 full of care, was taking leave of Mau- 
 gendre after having settled his account 
 for wood, the timber-merchant asked 
 him to come and drink a bottle in his 
 house. 
 
 '' I want to talk with you, Francis." 
 
 They went into the cottage, and Mau- 
 gendre filled two glasses as they placed 
 themselves opposite each other at the 
 table. 
 
 " I have not always led a lonely life 
 such as you see now, Louveau. I can 
 remember the time when I had every- 
 thing that is necessary for happiness; a 
 little money and a wife who loved me. 
 I have lost all by my own fault." 
 
 The wood-merchant stopped; the con-
 
 86 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 fession that was sticking in his throat 
 was nearly choking him. 
 
 "I have never been a wicked man, 
 Francis; but I had a vice." 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 " I have it still. I love the ' rhino ' 
 above everything. That has been the 
 cause of my misfortunes." 
 
 " How is that, my dear Maugendre? " 
 
 "I am going to tell you. When we 
 were married and had our baby, the idea 
 came into my head of sending my wife 
 to Paris to seek a nurse's place. That 
 pays well when the husband is an orderly 
 man, and knows how to manage his 
 house by himself. But my wife was un- 
 willing to be separated from her infant. 
 She said to me l But, husband, we are
 
 Under Way. 87 
 
 earning money enough as it is. The 
 rest would be money accursed, and 
 would not profit us. Leave such re- 
 sources as these to poor households 
 already burdened with children, and 
 spare me the pain of leaving you/ I 
 would not hear of it, Louveau, and I 
 compelled her to go." 
 
 Well ? " 
 
 " Well, when my wife had found a 
 situation she gave her child into the 
 charge of an old woman to take it back 
 to our place. She saw them to the rail- 
 way station, and they have never been 
 heard of since." 
 
 "And your wife, my dear Maugen- 
 dre ? "
 
 88 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 "When this news was told her, it 
 caused her milk to turn, and she died." 
 
 They were both silent, Louvean 
 touched by what he had just heard, 
 Maugendre overcome by his remem- 
 brances. The wood-merchant spoke the 
 first: 
 
 "For my punishment, I am con- 
 demned to the existence I now lead. I 
 have lived for twelve years apart from 
 every one. I can endure it no longer. 
 I have a dread of dying alone. If you 
 have any pity for me, you will give me 
 Victor, that he 'may take for me the 
 place of the child I have lost." 
 
 Louveau was much embarrassed. Vic- 
 tor was costing them much; but if they 
 parted with him at the time he was about
 
 Under Way. 89 
 
 to make himself useful, all the sacrifices 
 that they made would be thrown away. 
 Maugendre guessed his thoughts: 
 
 '' I need not say, Francis, that if you 
 give him to me, I shall recoup you what 
 he has cost. It would, moreover, be a 
 good thing for the lad. I can never see 
 the forestry pupils in the wood, with- 
 out saying to myself: ' I should have 
 been able to make a gentleman of my 
 boy, like those gentlemen.' Victor is 
 industrious, and he pleases me. You 
 know I shall treat him like my own son. 
 Come, now, is it agreed ? " 
 
 When the children had been put >to 
 bed in the cabin of the Belle Nivernaise, 
 this matter was talked over. The wife 
 with the head-piece attempted to reason.
 
 90 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 " You see, Francis, we have done for 
 that child all that we could. God 
 knows, one would like to keep him, but 
 now that there is an opportunity of part- 
 ing from him, without making him 
 wretched, we must try to have courage." 
 
 Despite themselves, their eyes turn 
 towards the bed, where Victor and Mim- 
 ile are sleeping the deep and calm sleep 
 of childhood. 
 
 " Poor little fellow," said Francis, in 
 a low voice. They heard the river rip- 
 pling along the planks, and the occa- 
 sional whistle of the railway engine 
 piercing the stillness of the night. 
 
 Mother Louveau burst out in sobs: 
 
 " God help us, Francis, we will keep 
 him."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 LIFE IS HARD 
 
 VICTOR was nearly fifteen years of 
 age. He had grown up all at once; the 
 little pale-faced child had become a stout 
 lad, with big shoulders and a quiet car- 
 riage. 
 
 Since he first sailed on the Belle 
 Nivernaise, he began to find his way like 
 an old bargeman, knowing the clear 
 channels, guessing the depths of the wa- 
 ter, passing from the handling of the 
 pole to that of the rudder. Now he had 
 a red waist-band, and wore a striped vest 
 about his hips. 
 
 When Louveau gave up the tiller to 
 
 91
 
 92 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 him, Clara, \vlio was growing a big girl, 
 would come and knit beside him, much 
 taken by his calm face and robust move- 
 ments. 
 
 This time, the passage from Corbiiinv 
 to Paris had fyeen a hard one. The 
 Seine, swollen by the autumn rains had 
 carried away the weirs, and was rushing 
 towards the sea like a wild beast let loose. 
 
 The anxious bargemen hurried <>n 
 with their deliveries, for the stream W;H 
 already rolling by at the level of the 
 quays, and messages sent from the lock 
 stations, hour after hour, brought bad 
 news. It was reported that the tributary 
 streams were breaking down their banks 
 and overflowing the country, and that 
 the flood was getting higher and higher.
 
 93
 
 Life is Hard. 95 
 
 The quays were filled with a busy 
 crowd, a swarm of men, carts and horses; 
 while up aloft the steam-cranes were 
 working their huge arms. The wine- 
 market was already cleared out, and 
 drays were carrying away cases of sugar. 
 The mooring-men were leaving their 
 cabins; the quays were getting empty; 
 and a file of wagons was ascending the 
 slope of the incline, retreating from the 
 flood like an army on the march. 
 
 The Louveaus were so hindered by the 
 roughness of the water, and the intermis- 
 sion of work in the moonless nights, that 
 they despaired of delivering their wood 
 in time. Everybody had taken his share 
 of the work, and they labored till very 
 late in the evening, by the light of
 
 96 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 lanterns and of the gas lamps on the 
 quay. 
 
 At eleven o'clock, all the cargo was 
 piled up at the foot of the incline; and, 
 as Dubac the joiner's cart did not reap- 
 pear, they went to bed. 
 
 It was a dreadful night, with much 
 grinding together of chains, creaking of 
 planks, and bumping of boats. The 
 Belle Nivernaise, with her timber- 
 loosened by the shocks, groaned like one 
 in pain. 
 
 It was impossible to close an eye. 
 Louveau, his wife, Victor, and the Crew 
 rose up at daybreak and left the chil- 
 dren in bed. 
 
 The Seine had risen still higher dur- 
 ing the night, and rough and surging 
 like a sea, its green waters were rushing
 
 Life is Hard. 97 
 
 on under a heavy sky. On the quays 
 there was no movement' of life on the 
 river not a boat; nothing but the re- 
 mains of roofs and fences borne alone; 
 
 O 
 
 in the current of the stream. Beyond 
 the bridges the outline of Xotre-Dame 
 was shadowed out against the fog. 
 
 There was not a moment to be lost, 
 for the river had already got over the 
 parapets of the lower quay, and the lit- 
 tle waves that lapped the ends of the 
 planks had caused the stacks of wood to 
 tumble down. 
 
 While Francis, mother Louveau, and 
 Dubac \vere loading the cart, with the 
 water half-way up to their knees, they 
 were startled by a loud crash on one side 
 of them. A lighter laden with mill-, 
 
 7
 
 98 La Belle JS'ivcrnaise. 
 
 atones had parted its mooring chain, and 
 had come against the quay and foun- 
 dered, being split up from stem to stern. 
 It sank with a dreadful noise, and a 
 strong eddy took its place. 
 
 They were standing motionless, im- 
 pressed by this sudden wreck, when they 
 heard shouts behind them. The Belle 
 Nivernaise, unmoored by the agitation 
 was leaving the quay. Mother Louveau 
 raised a cry : 
 
 " My children ! " 
 
 Victor had already rushed into the 
 cabin, and he now reappeared on deck 
 with the little one in his arms. Clara 
 and Mimile followed him, and all 
 stretched out their hands towards the 
 quay.
 
 Life is Hard. 99 
 
 " Take them ! " 
 
 " A boat ! " 
 
 " A rope ! " 
 
 What was to be done? It was im- 
 possible to take all of them to shore by 
 swimming. The Crew was running from 
 one plank to another, bewildered, useless. 
 They must get alongside at any cost. 
 
 In presence of this bewildered man, 
 and of these sobbing little children, Vic- 
 tor, thus unexpectedly made into a cap- 
 tain, felt within himself the energy that 
 was needed to save them. He gave his 
 orders : 
 
 " Come, throw a cable ! Quick ! " 
 
 This was done three times over, but 
 the Belle Nivernaise was already too far
 
 100 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 from the quay, and the cable fell into 
 the water. 
 
 Victor then ran to the rudder, and 
 they heard him shout: 
 
 "Don't be afraid. I'll see after 
 them." 
 
 And, in fact, by a vigorous movement 
 of the tiller, he brought the craft right, 
 for having been taken by the water 
 broadside on, she was drifting in the cur- 
 rent. 
 
 On the quay, poor Louveau quite lost 
 his senses, and wanted to leap into the 
 water in order to reach his children ; but 
 Dubac threw his arms round him, whilst 
 mother Louveau covered her face with 
 her hands to shut out the dreadful sight. 
 
 The Belle Nivernaise was now keep-
 
 Life is Hard. 101 
 
 ing in the current, and shooting towards 
 the bridge of Austerlitz with the veloc- 
 ity of a tug-boat. 
 
 Composedly leaning against the tiller 
 Victor steered, encouraged the little 
 ones, and gave his orders to the Crew. 
 He knew he was in the right channel, 
 for he had steered for the red flag that 
 hung in the middle of the centre arch 
 to show the bargemen the way. 
 
 But, good heavens! would there be 
 height enough to pass through! He saw 
 the bridge approaching very quickly. 
 
 "Get your boat-hook ready, Crew! 
 You, Clara, don't leave the children." 
 
 He was clinging to the rudder, and 
 already he felt the wind from the arch 
 moving his hair. They are in it ! Car-
 
 102 La Belle Kivernaise. 
 
 ried on by her impetus, the Belle Nicer- 
 naise disappeared under the span with a 
 dreadful sound, yet not so fast but that 
 the crowd collected on the bridge of 
 Austerlitz saw the wooden-legged boat- 
 man miss the stroke with his boat-hook 
 and fall flat down, whilst the lad at the 
 helm cried out: 
 
 "A grapnel ! a grapnel ! " 
 
 The Belle Nivei*naise was under the 
 bridge. In the shade of the arch Victor 
 distinctly observed the enormous rings 
 made fast to the layer of piles, and the 
 joints of the vault above his head, and 
 in the distance the line of other bridges, 
 inclosing their pieces of sky. 
 
 Then it seemed as if there were an en- 
 largement of the horizon, a dazzling
 
 Life is Hard 103 
 
 glare as when one comes out of a cellar 
 into the light, a sound of hurrahs above 
 his head, and the vision of the cathedral, 
 like a frigate anchored in the stream. 
 
 The boat abruptly stopped. The 
 bridgemen had succeeded in throwing a 
 hook on board, and Victor ran to the 
 mooring-line and wound the rope firmly 
 round the timber-head. 
 
 The Belle Nivernaise was seen to put 
 about, turn round on the mooring4ine, 
 and, obeying the new impulse that was 
 given to her, slowly come alongside the 
 quay of the Tournelle, with her crew of 
 little children and her captain of fifteen 
 years. 
 
 Oh ! what joy when they found them- 
 selves all assembled in the evening round
 
 104 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 the steaming stew in the cabin of the 
 boat this time well anchored, well 
 moored. 
 
 The little hero had the place of honor 
 the captain's seat. They had not 
 much appetite after the experiences of 
 the morning with its violent emotions, 
 but their hearts were expanded as after 
 a period of anguish, and they breathed 
 freely. 
 
 There was a wink across the table, as 
 much as to say: 
 
 " Ha ! if we had taken him back to the 
 police-magistrate's ? " 
 
 Louveau laughed from ear to ear, as 
 he cast his moistened eyes over his brood. 
 You would have supposed that some 
 good luck had befallen them, that they
 
 Life is Hard. 105 
 
 had gained a big prize in the lottery, or 
 that the Belle Nivernaise had no longer 
 any holes in her sides. 
 
 The bargeman kept knocking \ r ictor 
 about with punches in the ribs. It was 
 his way of showing his affection. " What 
 a chap Victor is! What a pull of the 
 tiller! Did you see that, Crew? I could 
 not have done bettter myself, he! he! 
 master as I am." 
 
 For a fortnight the good fellow could 
 do nothing else but express his admira- 
 tion, and go along the quays to describe 
 this pull of the tiller. " You know, the 
 boat was drifting. Then he ... Ah ! " 
 
 And he showed by a gesture how it 
 was done. 
 
 In the meantime the Seine was get-
 
 106 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 ting lower, and the time for setting out 
 was again at hand. One morning, as 
 Victor and Louveau were pumping on 
 the deck, the postman brought a letter. 
 
 It had a blue seal on the back. The 
 bargeman opened the letter with a rather 
 trembling hand, and, as he could not 
 trust to his own ability in reading more 
 than in arithmetic, he said to Victor: 
 
 " You spell that out for me." 
 
 And Victor read: 
 
 "OFFICE OF THE COMMISSARY OF POLICE 
 "72 Ik Arrondissement 
 
 " Monsieur Louveau (Francis), master bargeman, 
 u requested to call at the Office of the Commissary 
 of Police with as little delay as possible." 
 
 "Is that all ?" 
 " That is all."
 
 Life is Hard. 107 
 
 " What can he want with me ? " 
 
 Louveau was away all day. 
 
 When he came back in the evening all 
 his cheerfulness had disappeared; he was 
 gloomy, cross, sullen. 
 
 Mother Louveau could make nothing 
 of it; and as the youngsters had gone to 
 play on the deck, she asked him : 
 
 " Whatever has happened ? " 
 
 " I am weary of it." 
 
 " What, of unloading ? " 
 
 " Xo, about Victor." 
 
 And then he told her about his visit 
 to the police-magistrate. 
 
 "You must understand that the 
 woman who abandoned him was not his 
 mother."
 
 108 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 "No, really ? 
 
 " She had stolen him." 
 
 " How do they know that ? " 
 
 " She herself confessed it to the 
 police-magistrate before she died." 
 
 " Then they told you the name of his 
 parents ? " 
 
 Louveau gave a start. 
 
 " Why do you think they would tell 
 me?" 
 
 " Well, because they had sent for 
 you." 
 
 Francis got vexed. 
 
 " If I knew it, you think, perhaps, I 
 should tell you ! " 
 
 He was quite red with anger, and ho 
 went out, slamming the door after him.
 
 Life is Hard. 109 
 
 Mother Louveau was overcome with 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Whatever is the matter with him? " 
 
 Yes, what could have been the matter 
 with you, Francis. From that time his 
 ways, his words, his character were 
 quite changed. He could not eat, he 
 slept badly, he talked all night. He 
 even answered his wife back! He fell 
 out with the Crew. He spoke harshly 
 to everybody, and to Victor most of all. 
 When mother Louveau, quite amazed, 
 asked him what was the matter, he an- 
 swered savagely 
 
 " Nothing at all. Do I look as if any- 
 thing was the matter with me? You are 
 all plotting against me."
 
 110 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 The poor woman got nothing for her 
 pains : 
 
 " Take my word for it, he is going out 
 of his senses." 
 
 She thought he was quite cracked, 
 when one evening he made a dreadful 
 scene for them about Maugendre. 
 
 They were at the end of the voyii^r, 
 and had got nearly to Clamecy. Victor 
 and Clara were talking about the school, 
 and the youth having said that he should 
 be glad to see Maugendre again, Lou- 
 veau flew into a passion: 
 
 " Don't talk to me about your Mau- 
 gendre. I want to have nothing more 
 to do with him." 
 
 Mother Louveau interposed: 
 
 " What has he done to you ? "
 
 Life is Hard. Ill 
 
 " He has ... he has ... It does not 
 matter to you. I am the master, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 Alas! He was so much the master 
 now, that instead of making fast at Cor- 
 bigny, as usual, he went two leagues 
 higher up, into the heart of the forest. 
 
 He declared that Maugendre thought 
 of nothing else than duping him in all 
 their bargains, and that he could do 
 business on better terms with another 
 vendor. 
 
 They were now too far from the vil- 
 lage to think of attending the classes, 
 and therefore Victor and Clara rambled 
 through the woods all day, gathering 
 sticks. 
 
 "When they were tired carrying their
 
 112 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 burden they would put it down beside a 
 ditch, and sit down on the ground amidst 
 the flowers. Victor would pull a book 
 out of his pocket, and would get Clara to 
 read. 
 
 They liked to see the sun peeping 
 through the branches, and throw a flick- 
 ering light on the page and on their hair, 
 while about there was the hum of mil- 
 lions of little creatures, and surrounding 
 all reigned the silence of the woods. 
 
 When they got late, they had to re- 
 turn very quickly, all along the great 
 avenue, barred by shadows of the tree 
 trunks. The mast of the Belle Niver- 
 naise would be visible in the opening at 
 the end, as well as the gleam of a fire
 
 Life is Hard. 113 
 
 through the slight fog rising from the 
 river. 
 
 It was Mother Louveau cooking, in 
 the open air at the margin of the stream, 
 over a fire of waste rubbish. 
 
 Mimile would be sitting close by her, 
 with his hair all ruffled, his shirt burst- 
 ing through his breeches, and he would 
 be lovingly contemplating the pot, while 
 his little sister rolled about on the 
 ground, while Louveau and the Crew 
 smoked their pipes. 
 
 One evening, at supper time, they saw 
 some one come out of the wood and ad- 
 vance towards them. 
 
 "Ha! Maugendre !" 
 
 It was the timber-merchant. He 
 looked much older, and much grayer.
 
 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 He had a stick in his hand, and seemed 
 to talk with difficulty. 
 
 He came forward to Louveau and 
 held out his hand. 
 
 " Well, you have left me then, Fran- 
 cis ? " 
 
 The bargeman stammered out a con- 
 fused reply. 
 
 "Oh! I am not vexed at you." 
 
 He had so wearied a look that mother 
 Louveau was touched by it, and with- 
 out giving any heed to her husband's bad 
 humor, she handed him a seat. 
 
 " You arc not ill, I hope, M. Maugen- 
 dre ? " 
 
 " I have got a bad cold." 
 
 He spoke slowly, almost in a whisper. 
 Suffering had softened him. He told
 
 Life is Hard. 115 
 
 them that he was about to leave the 
 neighborhood, to go to live in the dis- 
 tant part of the Nievre. 
 
 " It's all done with. I have given up 
 business. I am now rich ; I have money, 
 plenty of money. But what is the good 
 of it ? I cannot buy back the happiness 
 I have lost." 
 
 Francis listened with knit brows. 
 
 Maugendre continued: 
 
 " The older I get, the more keenly do 
 I suffer from being lonely. Formerly, 
 I used to forget all when I was working ; 
 but now, I have no longer any heart for 
 work. I have lost interest in every- 
 thing. So I am going to banish myself; 
 that may perhaps give me some distrac- 
 tion."
 
 .116 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 And, in spite of himself, his eyes 
 turned towards the children. At this 
 moment Victor and Clara issued from 
 the avenue with their load of branches, 
 and seeing Maugendre, they threw down 
 their bundles and ran to him. 
 
 He received them as cordially as usual, 
 and said to Louveau, who remained sul- 
 len: 
 
 " You are a happy man to have four 
 children. I have none now." 
 
 And he sighed: " I must not complain, 
 it is my own fault." 
 
 He rose up, and everybody did the 
 same. 
 
 " Good-by, Victor. Be industrious, 
 and love your parents; you ought to." 
 
 He had put his hand on the boy's
 
 Life is Hard. 117 
 
 shoulder, and was looking at him fixedly. 
 
 "Ah, if I had a child, he should be 
 like him." 
 
 Louveau opposite to him, with com- 
 pressed lips, bore an expression that 
 seemed to say: "Begone from hence." 
 
 Yet at the moment the timber-mer- 
 chant was leaving, Francis felt an im- 
 pulse of sympathy towards him, and he 
 called him back, saying 
 
 " Maugendre, won't you take soup 
 with us ? " 
 
 This was said as if against the grain, 
 and in a gruff tone of voice that did not 
 encourage acceptance. The old man 
 shook his head. 
 
 " ]STo, I thank you, I am not hungry. 
 When one is melancholy, look you, other
 
 118 La Belle Xiv r ernaise. 
 
 people's happiness does not do one much 
 good." 
 
 And he departed, bending over his 
 stick. 
 
 Louveau did not speak a word the 
 whole evening. He passed the night in 
 walking up and down the deck, and in 
 the morning he went away without say- 
 ing a word to any one. 
 
 He went to the vicarage, which was 
 close to the church. It was a large 
 square building, with a court in front 
 and a kitchen garden behind. Fowls 
 were foraging at the threshold, and a 
 cow was lowing in the grass. 
 
 Louveau felt his heart lightened by 
 the resolution he had taken. As he 
 opened the gate, he said to himself with
 
 Life is Hard. 119 
 
 a sigh of satisfaction, that when he came 
 out of it again he should be relieved of 
 his care. 
 
 He found the vicar seated in his cool 
 dining room. The good priest had fin- 
 ished his breakfast, and was dozing 
 lightly with his head leaning over his 
 breviary. Aroused by Louveau's en- 
 trance, he turned down the page, and 
 having closed the book, he motioned to 
 the bargeman, who was twirling his cap 
 in his fingers, to sit down. 
 
 " Well now, Francis, what can I do for 
 you ? " 
 
 He wanted advice, and he asked to be 
 allowed to tell his story from the begin- 
 ning. 
 
 " Because, as your Reverence knows,
 
 120 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 I am not very clever. I am not an 
 eagle, he! he! as my wife tells me." 
 
 And having put himself at his ease by 
 this preamble, he told his business, very 
 much out of breath, very red, and all the 
 while gazing intently at the peak of his 
 cap. 
 
 " Your Reverence will recollect that 
 Maugendre told you he was a widower? 
 He has been so for the last fifteen years. 
 His wife went to Paris to be a nurse. 
 She showed her child to the doctor, as 
 the custom is, gave it the breast for the 
 last time, and then she intrusted it to a 
 meneuse." 
 
 The priest interrupted him. 
 
 " What is a meneuse, Francis ? " 
 
 "A meneuse, your Reverence, is a
 
 Life is Hard. 121 
 
 woman who is employed to take back 
 home the children of the wet nurses. 
 She carries them away in a creel or 
 basket like kittens." 
 
 " That's a queer trade ! " 
 
 " There are some honest people that 
 carry it on, your Reverence; but mother 
 Maugendre had fallen in with a woman 
 that nobody knew, a witch who stole 
 children and let them out. to other idle 
 vagabonds to drag them about the streets 
 in order to excite commiseration." 
 
 '" You do not mean to say that, Fran- 
 cis ?" 
 
 " It is the simple truth, your Rever- 
 ence. This wretch of a woman carried 
 off a lot of children, and Maugendre's 
 little one among the rest. She kept him
 
 122 La Belle ^ivernaise. 
 
 for four years. She wanted to teach 
 him to beg; but as he was the son of an 
 honest man, he refused to hold out his 
 hand. Thereupon she abandoned him 
 in the street, and then become what 
 you can! But now, six months ago, on 
 her deathbed in the hospital, she was 
 stricken with remorse. I know what 
 that is, your Reverence, it is devilish 
 hard to bear. . ." 
 
 And he turned his eyes up to the ceil- 
 ing, poor man, as if to call Heaven to 
 witness the truth of his statement. 
 
 " Then she asked for the police-mag- 
 istrate and she told him the name of the 
 child. The magistrate has informed me. 
 It is Victor." 
 
 The vicar let his breviary fall:
 
 Life is Hard. 123 
 
 " Is Victor Maugendre's son ? " 
 
 " He is." 
 
 The ecclesiastic was .taken all aback. 
 He muttered a phrase in which the words 
 " poor child," " finger of God " were dis- 
 tinguishable. He got up, walked about 
 the room, went near the window, drank 
 a glass of water, and ended by stopping 
 in front of Louveau with his hands in 
 his waist-band. He was trying to recol- 
 lect a sentence that would apply to the 
 circumstance, but as he could not find 
 one, he simply said: 
 
 "Ah, well, but he must be restored to 
 his father." 
 
 Louveau started. 
 
 " That is exactly my trouble, your 
 Reverence. For the six months that I
 
 124 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 have known all this, I have never had 
 the courage to tell any one, not even my 
 wife. We have denied ourselves so 
 much to bring up that child, we have en- 
 dured so much poverty together, that 
 now I do not know how I can bring my- 
 self to part from him." 
 
 All this was true, and if Maugendre 
 seemed to deserve compassion, some pity 
 should also be felt for poor Francis. 
 Possessed by these contradictory senti- 
 ments, the vicar was perspiring visibly, 
 while mentally he was requesting light 
 from on high. And forgetting that 
 Louveau had come to ask for his advice, 
 he murmured in a subdued voice: 
 
 " Come, now, Francis, if you were in 
 my place, what would you advise ? "
 
 Life is Hard. 125 
 
 The bargeman looked down. 
 
 " I quite understand, your Reverence, 
 that Victor must be given up. I felt 
 that the other day, when Maugendre 
 came upon us unexpectedly. It cut me 
 to the heart to see him so old, so sad, and 
 so broken down. I was as ashamed as 
 if I had his money, stolen money, in my 
 pocket. I could no longer keep this 
 secret to myself, and I have come to tell 
 it you." 
 
 "And you have done right, Louveau," 
 said the vicar, delighted at seeing the 
 bargeman find him a solution of the 
 question. " It is never too late to repair 
 an error. I am going with you to Mau- 
 gendre's, and there you will confess all 
 to him."
 
 126 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 " To-morrow, your Reverence." 
 " No, Francis, immediately." 
 And observing the poor fellow's grief, 
 and the nervous twisting about of his 
 cap, he entreated in a softer voice: 
 
 " I beg of you to do it now, Louveau, 
 whilst we are both resolved."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MAUGENDRE'S AMBITIONS 
 
 A SON! Maugendre has a son! 
 
 He is gazing at him complacently, as 
 he sits on the opposite cushion in the 
 buzz and hum of the railway carriage 
 that is bearing them towards Xevers. 
 
 It was really an abduction. The old 
 man had taken his son away, almost 
 without saying thank you, like a rustic 
 who has won the big prize in the lottery, 
 and runs straight off with it. 
 
 He did not want to leave his child 
 open to the old attachments. He was 
 now as greedy for affection, as he for- 
 merly was for gold. No borrowing, no 
 
 127
 
 128 La Belle Xivernaisc. 
 
 sharing; but his treasure is to be for 
 himself only, without the peering eves 
 of others. 
 
 There was a buzzing in Maugendrc's 
 ears like that of the express. His head 
 was hot like the locomotive. But his 
 dreams were hastening on faster than 
 any locomotives or express trains, and 
 passing at a dash over days, and months, 
 and years. 
 
 His dreams were of a Victor dressed 
 in dark-green faced with silver; a stu- 
 dent of the School of Forestry! One 
 might even say that this student Mau- 
 gendre had a sword at his side, and the 
 
 two-cornered hat on his head, like a 
 
 / 
 student of the Ecole Poly technique 
 
 for all the schools and all the uniforms
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 129 
 
 were a little mixed in Maugendre's 
 dreams. 
 
 Xo matter! Embroidery and gold 
 lace are not spared by the wood-mer- 
 chant. He has the " rhino " to pay for 
 all that . . . and Victor shall be a gentle- 
 man covered with gold lace from head to 
 foot. 
 
 Men will speak to him with their hats 
 off. 
 
 Fine ladies will be madly in love with 
 him. 
 
 And, in one corner, there will be an 
 old man with horny hands, who will say, 
 bridling up: 
 
 " This is my son." 
 
 " Come now, my son." 
 
 " My son " also is dreaming, with his
 
 130 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 little cap over his eyes until he gets 
 the two-cornered gold-laced hat. 
 
 He would not like his father to see 
 him weeping. But it was sudden, that 
 separation. Clara had given him a kiss 
 that still glowed on his cheek. Old 
 Louveau turned away, and mother Lou- 
 veau was very pale. 
 
 And Mimile brought him his por- 
 ringer of soup, to console him. All! 
 even to little Mimile. Oh! how will 
 they live without him? And how will 
 he live without them? The future stu- 
 dent of the School of Forestry is so 
 troubled by these thoughts, that every 
 time his father speaks to him, he an- 
 swers: 
 
 "Yes, monsieur Maugendre."
 
 Maugen dre's Ambitions. 131 
 
 And he is not yet at the end of his 
 tribulations, our little bargeman of the 
 Belle Nivernaise. For it costs not only 
 money to become a gentleman, but also 
 sacrifices and sorrows. 
 
 Some of these Victor is conscious of, 
 as the quick train passes with a whistle 
 over the bridges above the suburbs of 
 ISTevers. It seems to him that he has 
 before seen somewhere, in a sad and dis- 
 tant past, these same narrow streets, and 
 those windows small as the air-holes of a 
 prison, with raveled rags hanging out of 
 them. 
 
 Now they have the pavement beneath 
 their feet, and round them there is the 
 station rout, the crowd of lookers-on, the 
 press of people laden with parcels, the
 
 132 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 roll of cabs and of heavy railway omni- 
 buses,, which travelers, carrying rugs tied 
 up with straps, noisily take by assault. 
 
 Victor and his father go out of the 
 station gates in a carriage. The wood- 
 merchant sticks to his idea. He must 
 have an immediate transformation. So 
 he takes his son straight away to the col- 
 lege tailor's. 
 
 The shop is new, the counters lustrous, 
 and well-dressed gentlemen, like those 
 shown in the colored engravings hung on 
 the wall, open the door for the customers 
 with a patronizing smile. 
 
 They put before old Maugendre the 
 choicest of the fashion plates, where a 
 collegian is smoking in company with a 
 lady in a riding-habit, a gentleman in a
 
 Mangendre's Ambitions. 133 
 
 complete hunting suit, and a bride 
 dressed in white satin. 
 
 The tailor happens just to have in 
 hand a pattern tunic, padded back and 
 front, with square skirts and gilt but- 
 tons. He displays it to the wood-mer- 
 chant, who beaming with pride, cries: 
 
 " In that, you will look like a soldier." 
 
 A gentleman in his shirt sleeves, with 
 a tape round his neck, now comes up to 
 the student Maugendre, and takes the 
 measure of his legs, his waist, and his 
 back-bone. 
 
 This operation brings to the mind of 
 the little bargeman remembrances that 
 call the tears to his eyes! The ways of 
 dear old Louveau, the tempers of the
 
 134 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 wife with the head-piece all that has 
 he left behind him forever. 
 
 It is all past and gone now. The cor- 
 rect young man in the regulation uni- 
 form, that Victor beholds in the big 
 looking-glass, has nothing in common 
 with the ship-lad of the Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 The tailor with his toe contemptu- 
 ously pushes the dishonored boat gar- 
 ments under his bench like a bundle of 
 rags. 
 
 Victor feels that he has been made to 
 leave there all his past life. How much 
 is there in that word " leave " ! Here 
 now is he forbidden even to retain the 
 memory of it. 
 
 "You must detach yourself from all 
 the errors of your early education," said
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 135 
 
 the Principal sternly, without conceal- 
 ing his distrust. 
 
 And in order to facilitate this regen- 
 eration, it is decided that the student 
 Maugendre shall go out of the college 
 only on the first Sunday in each month. 
 
 Oh ! how he weeps the first night, at 
 the end of the cold, dreary dormitory, 
 while the other scholars are snoring on 
 their iron bedsteads, and the assistant- 
 master is devouring a romance on the 
 sly, by the glimmer of a night-light. 
 
 How he suffers during the hated hour 
 of recreation, whilst his comrades hustle 
 and mob him ! 
 
 How weary he is in the study, with 
 his head bent over his desk, trembling at 
 the anger of the usher as the latter, with
 
 136 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 all his might, hits his table, repeating 
 ever the same phrase: 
 
 " Silence there, sirs." 
 
 That shrill voice, by stirring np in 
 Victor the bitter dregs of sad memories, 
 blights his whole life. 
 
 It reminds him of the dark days of his 
 early childhood, of the crannies in the 
 Temple suburb; of the blows, of the 
 quarrels, of all that he had forgotten. 
 
 He clung desperately to the images of 
 Clara and the Belle Nivernaise, as to the 
 one ray of sunshine amid the gloom of 
 his life. 
 
 This no doubt was the reason for the 
 drawings of boats that the usher was so 
 astonished at finding on every page of 
 the student Maugendre's books.
 
 en arrose, tre.i ferine, el sunum 
 & tlr I Alias silenj It iu' 
 
 137
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 139 
 
 Always the same barge, reproduced on 
 every leaf with the persistence of one 
 possessed. 
 
 Sometimes she was slowly ascending 
 the narrow path of the margins, shut in 
 as if on a canal. 
 
 Sometimes she was wrecked in the 
 midst of a theorem, splashing over the 
 inserted diagrams and the corollaries in 
 the small print. 
 
 Sometimes she was under full sail on 
 the oceans of the maps, ard on them she 
 rode at ease, spread all her canvas, and 
 flew her flag. 
 
 The Principal, tired of the circum- 
 stantial reports made to him on this sub- 
 ject, at length spoke of it to M. Maugen- 
 dre, the father.
 
 140 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 The wood-merchant could not set 
 over it: 
 
 " A lad so manageable ! " 
 
 " He is as obstinate as a donkey." 
 
 " So intelligent ! " 
 
 " He cannot be taught anything." 
 
 And nobody would understand that 
 the student Maugendre had learnt to 
 read amidst woods looking over Clara's 
 shoulder, and that studying geometry 
 under the ferule of a bearded usher is 
 a very different kind of thing. 
 
 This is the reason why the student 
 Mangendre goes down from the " middle 
 school " to the "lower ": it is because 
 there is a singular difference between 
 the lessons of the magister at Corbiirny, 
 and those of MM. the Professors of the
 
 fHEOItEME * 
 
 1 1 H Let diagonalet fun lotage/te coug 
 dmls. 
 
 Clrconference. Lacirron/eraicreslmie lignecu 
 
 clcr que le cercle t-ilune surface et la circuiiWrencc un 
 
 K. Hyo On appelle r'jyon loule droitK qui va du 
 eeniri- i la circonlCreiict-. UA. Ub >onl. dt ? rayon* 
 
 141
 
 U3
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 145 
 / 
 
 College of Xevers. A distance as great 
 as between teaching in a rabbit-skin cap 
 and teaching in an ermine hat. 
 
 Maugendre the elder was in despair. 
 It seemed to him that the Forester in 
 the two-cornered hat was taking great 
 strides far into the distance. 
 
 The father chides, he entreats, he 
 promises. 
 
 " Do you want lessons ? Would you 
 like to have tutors ? You shall have the 
 best, the most expensive." 
 
 In the meantime, the student Mau- 
 gendre is becoming a vexation, and the 
 *' Quarterly Reports " mercilessly ex- 
 hibit his faultiness. For his own part, 
 
 he is conscious of his stupidity, and 
 10
 
 146 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 \ 
 
 every day he withdraws more and more 
 into obscurity and sadness. 
 
 If Clara and the rest could but see 
 what has been done with their Victor ! 
 How they would come and throw wide 
 open the doors of his prison ! How cor- 
 dially they would offer him a share of 
 their last crust of bread, of their last bit 
 of bedding ! 
 
 But they also are unhappy, poor peo- 
 ple. Things are going from bad to 
 worse. The boat is getting older and 
 older. 
 
 That Victor knows by Clara's letters. 
 which from time to time come to him 
 with a great, savage " seen," scrawled in 
 red pencil by the Prin<*ipal, who hates 
 these interfering correspondences.
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 147 
 
 " Ah ! when you used to be here," say 
 these letters of Clara's, always tender, 
 but becoming more and more distressful. 
 . . " Ah ! if you were but with us 
 now ! " 
 
 Was not this as much as to say that 
 all used to go on well in those days, and 
 that all would yet be saved if Victor 
 came back ? 
 
 Well, then, Victor will save all. He 
 will buy a new boat. He will console 
 Clara. He will bring back the trade. 
 He will show them that they have not 
 loved one who is without gratitude, and 
 have not succored one incapable of help- 
 ing them. 
 
 But to do this, he must become a man.
 
 148 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 Money must be earned, and for that, he 
 must acquire knowledge. 
 
 So Victor re-opens his books, and 
 turns over a new leaf. 
 
 Xow arrows may fly, the usher may 
 strike on his desk with all his might, and 
 emit his parrot phrase: 
 
 " Silence there, sirs." 
 
 Victor does not lift his eyes from his 
 books. He draws no more boats. He de- 
 spises the paper missiles that strike his 
 face. He works ... he works. . . . 
 
 " A letter for the student Maugen- 
 dre." 
 
 This reminder of Clara, redolent of 
 liberty and affection, was like a blessing 
 unexpectedly coming to encourage him 
 in the midst of his studies.
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 149* 
 
 Victor hid his head in his desk to kiss 
 the zigzag, painfully written address, 
 shaky as if a constant heaving of the 
 boat rocked the table Clara was writing 
 on. 
 
 Alas ! it was not the heaving of the 
 boat, but the agitation of feeling that 
 had made Clara's hand tremble. 
 
 "It is all over, my dear Victor; the 
 Belle Nivernaise will never sail more. 
 She has perished, and her destruction is- 
 our ruin. There is this ugly notice on 
 her stern: 
 
 WOOD TO SELL. 
 
 FROM THE BREAKING UP. 
 
 "People came and calculated the 
 value of everything, from the Crew's
 
 150 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 boat-hook to the cradle in which my lit- 
 tle sister was sleeping. It seems they 
 are going to sell everything, and we 
 have nothing left. 
 
 " What will become of us ? Mamma 
 is nearly dying of grief, and papa is so 
 changed. . . ." 
 
 Victor did not finish the letter. The 
 words were dancing before his eyes; his 
 face was flushed, and there was a hum- 
 ming in his ears. 
 
 Ah ! study was now out of the ques- 
 tion. Exhausted by work, grief and 
 fever, he was becoming delirious. 
 
 He thought he was drifting on the 
 open Seine, on the beautiful cool river. 
 He wanted to bathe his brow in the 
 stream.
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 
 
 Then he heard vaguely the sound of a 
 belL !Xo doubt, some tug that was pass- 
 ing in the fog. Presently it was like the 
 noise of many waters, and he cried: 
 
 " The flood ! the flood ! " 
 
 He began to shiver at the thought of 
 the deep shadow under the arch of the 
 bridge; and amid all these visions he was 
 conscious of the usher's scared, hirsute 
 countenance under the lamp-shade. 
 
 " Are you ill, Maugendre ? " 
 
 The student Maugendre was indeed 
 ill. It is no use the doctor shaking his 
 head, when the poor father, who follows 
 him to the college door, asks him in a 
 voice choked with anxiety: 
 
 " He is not going to die, is he ? " 
 
 For it is plain that the doctor is not
 
 152 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 confident, at least his gray hairs are not, 
 for they say " no " faintly, as if they 
 were afraid of committing themselves. 
 
 No mention now of green coats or of 
 two-cornered hats. It is solely a matter 
 of saving the student Maugendre's life. 
 
 The doctor told them frankly that if 
 he should recover, they would do well to 
 restore him to his country freedom. 
 
 If he should recover ! 
 
 The idea of losing the child just re- 
 stored to him annihilated all the am- 
 bitious desires of the rich father. It is 
 all over with his dream, he renounces it 
 forever. He is quite ready to bury the 
 student of the School of Forestry with 
 his own hands. He will nail up the 
 coffin, if desired. He will wear no
 
 jjfaugendre's Ambitions. 153 
 
 mourning for him. Only but let the 
 other one consent to live ! Let him but 
 speak to him, get up, throw his arms 
 round his neck, and say: 
 
 " Be comforted, father. I am getting 
 well now." 
 
 And the wood-merchant leant over 
 Victor's bed. 
 
 It is done. The old tree is cleft to 
 the core. Maugendre's heart has been 
 softened. 
 
 ' I will let you leave here, my lad. 
 You shall return to them, you shall sail 
 again. And it will be good enough for 
 me to see you sometimes in passing." 
 
 At this time, the bell no longer rings 
 the hours for recreation, for study, and 
 for meals. It is the vacation, and the
 
 154 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 great college is deserted. Not a sound 
 is heard save that of the fountain in the 
 courtyard, and the sparrows chirping on 
 the grassplots. The rattle of an occa- 
 sional carriage sounds dull and distant, 
 for they have laid down straw in the 
 street. 
 
 It is in the midst of this silence and 
 this solitude, that the student Maugen- 
 dre comes to himself again. 
 
 He is surprised to find himself in a 
 very white bed, surrounded by largo 
 muslin curtains that spread about him 
 the seclusion of subdued light and 
 quietude. 
 
 He would much like to raise himself 
 up on the pillow, and draw them apart 
 a little, to see where he is; but his
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 155 
 
 strength is unequal to the effort, al- 
 tliough he feels himself most delight- 
 fully refreshed. So he waits. 
 
 But there are voices whispering near 
 him. One would fancy there were feet 
 walking on tiptoe over the floor, and 
 even a well-known stumping, something 
 like the promenade of a broom-handle 
 over the boards. Victor had heard that 
 before. Where ? Surely on the deck 
 of the Belle Nivernaise. That's it ! 
 
 And the patient, collecting all his 
 strength, cries out with a feeble voice, 
 which he, however, means for a loud 
 one: 
 
 " Yeho ! Crew ! yeho ! " 
 
 The curtains are withdrawn, and in 
 the dazzling burst of light, he sees all
 
 156 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 the dear ones he has so often called on 
 in his delirium. 
 
 All ? Yes, all ! They are all there. 
 Clara, Maugendre, Louveau, mother 
 Louveau, Mimile, the little sister; and 
 the scalded old heron, as thin as his own 
 boat-hook, was smiling immensely his 
 silent smile. 
 
 And every arm is stretched towards 
 him, every head is bent, there are kis?es 
 from everybody, smiles, shakes of the 
 hand, questions. 
 
 " Where am I \ Why are you IK T '." 
 
 But the doctor's orders are precise, 
 and the gray hairs were in downright 
 earnest when thus prescribing: 
 
 " He must keep his arms under the
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 157 
 
 bed-clothes, be quiet, and not get ex- 
 cited." 
 
 And in order to prevent his child from 
 talking, Maugendre goes on speaking all 
 the time. 
 
 "Would you believe that it is ten 
 <!;>y- ago the day you fell ill that I 
 had just seen the Principal to speak to 
 him about you ? He told me you were 
 making progress, and that you were 
 working like a machine. . . . You may 
 imagine how pleased I was ! I asked to 
 see you, and you were sent for, when at 
 that moment your master rushed into 
 the Principal's study quite frightened. 
 You had just had an attack of high 
 fever. I ran to the infirmary; you did 
 not recognize me, your eyes were like
 
 158 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 tapers, you were in delirium ! Ah ! my 
 dear lad, how ill you were ! I did not 
 leave you for a moment. You kept rav- 
 ing on. You were talking about the 
 Belle Nivernaise, about Clara, about the 
 new boat, and I know not what else. 
 Then I recollected the letter Clara's 
 letter; it had been found in your hands, 
 and they had given it to me, and, for 
 the time, I had forgotten all about it, 
 you know ! I drew it from my pocket, 
 I read it, I shook my head, and I said to 
 myself: ' Maugendre, your disappoint- 
 ment must not make you forget v< un- 
 friends' trouble.' Then I wrote to all 
 these good people to come and see us. 
 No answer. I took advantage of a day 
 on which you were rather better, to go
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 159 
 
 and find them, and I brought them to 
 my house, where they are now living 
 and where they will live, until some 
 means of settling their affairs has been 
 found. Is it not so, friend Louveau ? " 
 
 Every one has a tear in his eye, and, 
 on my word ! so much the worse for 
 the doctor's gray hairs, the two arms 
 come out of the bed-clothes, and Mau- 
 gendre is embraced as he has never been 
 before, the real kiss of an affectionate 
 child. 
 
 Then, as it is impossible to take "Vic- 
 tor home, they arrange their future life 
 Clara will remain with the patient in 
 order to sweeten his draughts and chat 
 with him; mother Louveau will go to 
 keep house; Francis shall go and super-
 
 160 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 intend a building that the timber-mer- 
 chant has contracted for in the Grande 
 Rue. 
 
 As for Maugendre, he is going to 
 Clamecy. He is going to see some, ac- 
 quaintances who have a large contract 
 for wood. These people will be de- 
 lighted to engage so clever a bargeman 
 as Louveau. 
 
 Xo ! no ! Xo objections, no oppo- 
 sition. It is an understood thing, quite 
 a simple matter. 
 
 Certainly it is not for Victor to ob- 
 ject. 
 
 He is now lifted up and rolled in his 
 big arm-chair to the window. 
 
 He is alone with Clara, in the silent 
 infirmary.
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 161 
 
 And Victor is delighted. He blesses 
 his illness. He blesses the sale of the 
 Belle Nivernaise. He blesses all the 
 sales and all the illnesses in the world. 
 
 " Do you remember, Clara, when I 
 used to hold the tiller, and you would 
 come and sit beside me, with your knit- 
 ting ? " 
 
 Clara remembered so well that she 
 cast down her eyes, and blushed, and 
 both of them were rather embarrassed. 
 
 For now, he is no longer the little lad 
 in a red cap, whose feet could not reach 
 to the deck when he climbed up on the 
 tiller, and sat astride it. 
 
 And she, when she comes in the morn- 
 ing and takes off her little shawl, and 
 
 throws it on the bed, appears quite a 
 11
 
 162 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 handsome young woman; her arms are 
 so round, and her waist is so slender. 
 
 " Come early, Clara, and stop as long 
 as you can." 
 
 It is so nice to have breakfast and din- 
 ner, the two together, near the window 
 in the shade of the white curtains. 
 
 They are reminded of their early 
 childhood, of the pap eaten at the edge 
 of the bed with the same spoon. Ah I 
 those memories of childhood ! 
 
 They flit about the college infirmary 
 like birds in an aviary. Xo doubt they 
 make their nest in every corner of the 
 curtains, for each morning there are 
 fresh ones newly opened for their flight. 
 
 And truly, if you heard their conver- 
 sations about the past, you would say
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 163 
 
 that they were a couple of octogenarians 
 looking back only on the distance be- 
 hind them. 
 
 Now, is there not a future, which also 
 may have some interest for them ? 
 
 Yes, there is such a future: and it is 
 often thought of, if it is never men- 
 tioned. 
 
 Besides, it is not absolutely necessary 
 to use phrases in conversing. There is 
 a certain way of taking hold of a hand, 
 and of blushing at every turn, which 
 says a great deal more than words. Vic- 
 tor and Clara talk in that language all 
 day long. 
 
 That is probably the reason why they 
 are so often silent. And that, too, is 
 why the days pass so quickly that the
 
 La Belle Xivmiaise. 
 
 month glides by noiselessly and imper- 
 ceptibly. 
 
 That is the reason why the doctor is 
 obliged to make his gray hairs bristle 
 up, and to turn his patient out of the 
 infirmary. 
 
 Just at this time, Maugendre the elder 
 returns from his journey. He finds 
 them all assembled in his house. And 
 he cannot help smiling, when poor Lou- 
 veau very anxiously asks him: 
 
 " Well, will they have anything to do 
 with me down there ? " 
 
 " Will they not, old man ? . . . They 
 wanted a master for a new boat, and 
 they thanked me for the gift I was giv- 
 ing them." 
 
 Who can these people be ? Old Lou-
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 165 
 
 veau was so delighted he did not inquire 
 further. And everybody set off for 
 Clamecy without knowing anything 
 more about it. 
 
 What a pleasure, when they get to the 
 banks of the canal ! 
 
 There, on the quay, a magnificent 
 boat, adorned with flags from top to bot- 
 tom, and brand new, raises her polished 
 mast amid the green fields. 
 
 They are giving her the last touch of 
 varnish, and the stern on which the 
 name of the craft is painted, remains 
 covered with gray canvas. 
 
 A cry breaks from every mouth: 
 
 " What a fine boat ! " 
 
 Lou veau does not believe his eyes. 
 He has a deuced queer feeling of smart-
 
 166 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 ing in the eyelids, of a splitting open of 
 his mouth about a foot wide, and of a 
 shaking of his ear-rings like a couple of 
 salad paniers. 
 
 "That is too grand ! I would not dare 
 undertake to steer a boat like that. She 
 was never made to sail. She should be 
 put under a glass case." 
 
 Maugendre had to push him by force 
 on the foot-bridge, where the Crew was 
 making signals to them. 
 
 How is this ! Has the Crew himself 
 been repaired ? Yes, repaired, refitted, 
 caulked afresh. He has a boat-hook, and 
 a wooden leg, both quite new. 
 
 These are the gift of the contractor, a 
 man of intelligence, who has done tho 
 thing well. As, for example, the deck
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 167 
 
 is of waxed wood, and is surrounded by 
 a handrail. There is a seat for resting 
 yourself, and an awning to afford shade 
 from the sun. 
 
 The hold is big enough to carry a 
 double cargo. And the cabin! oh, the 
 cabin ! 
 
 " Three apartments ! " 
 
 A kitchen ! " 
 
 " Mirrors ! " 
 
 Louveau drew Maugendre aside on 
 the deck. He was touched, shaken by 
 his feelings as were his ear-rings. He 
 stammered out: 
 
 " Dear old Maugendre . . ." 
 
 " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " You have forgotten one thing." 
 
 Yes ? "
 
 168 La Belle Nivernaise. 
 
 sail." 
 
 " You want to know ? " 
 
 "Certainly!" 
 
 " Well, then, on your own account ! "' 
 
 " How ? ... but then ... the boat 
 
 > 
 
 " Is yours ! " 
 
 "What an event, my friends ! What 
 close pressings of breast to breast ! 
 
 It is fortunate that the contractor 
 who is a man of intelligence had be- 
 thought himself of putting a seat upon 
 the deck. 
 
 Louveau drops upon it like a man 
 felled by a blow.
 
 Maugendre'a Ambitions. 169 
 
 " It is impossible. . . . we cannot ac- 
 cept.' 7 
 
 Maugendre lias an answer ready for 
 everything : 
 
 ' Come, now, you are forgetting our 
 old debt, the money you have laid out 
 for Victor. Keep your mind easy, 
 Francis; it is I who owe you the most." 
 
 And the two companions kissed each 
 other like brothers. Xo mistake this 
 time; they w r ept. 
 
 Assuredly Maugendre has arranged 
 everything to make the surprise com- 
 plete, for whilst they are embracing each 
 other on the deck, behold his Reverence, 
 the Vicar, issuing from the wood, with 
 a band behind him and a banner float- 
 ing on the wind.
 
 170 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 "What can this be for? It is for the 
 benediction of the boat, most certainly. 
 All Clamecy has come in procession to 
 be present at the celebration. 
 
 The banner is floating out in the 
 breeze. 
 
 And the band is playing 
 
 " Kum, dum dum." 
 
 Every. face looks happy, and over all 
 there is a bright sun that makes the sil- 
 ver of the cross and the brass of the 
 musicians' instruments flash again. 
 
 What a celebration ! They have ju-t 
 taken away the canvas that covered the 
 stern; and the name of the boat shows 
 up in gold letters on an azure ground: 
 
 " LA NOUVELLE XlVERNAISE." 
 
 Hurrah for the Nouvelle Nivernaise!
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 171 
 
 May she have as long a life as the old 
 one, and a happier old age ! 
 
 The Vicar steps up to the boat. Be- 
 hind him, the singers and the musicians 
 are drawn up in a row, while the banner 
 forms a background. 
 
 " Benedicat Deus. . . ." 
 
 Victor is the godfather, Clara the god- 
 mother. The Vicar asks them to come 
 forward to the edge of the quay close to 
 himself. 
 
 They hold each other's hand, and are 
 bashful, trembling. They confusedly 
 stammer out the words that the choir-boy 
 whimpers to them, whilst the Vicar is 
 shaking the holy-water sprinkler over 
 them : 
 
 " Benedicat Deus. ,
 
 172 La Belle Xivernaise. 
 
 "Would yon not have taken them for a 
 young couple at the altar? That thought 
 occurs to everybody. Perhaps it occurs 
 to themselves, also, for they dare not 
 look at each other, and they get more 
 and more confused as the ceremony pro- 
 ceeds. 
 
 At length, it is finished. The crowd 
 retires. The Nouvelle Nivernaise has 
 received her benediction. 
 
 But you cannot let the musiciai. 
 away like that, without any refr- 
 ments. 
 
 And, whilst Lou v eau is pouring out 
 bumpers for the musicians, Maugemlre, 
 winking at mother Louveau, takes the 
 godfather and godmother by the hand 
 and turning towards the Vicar, ask- :
 
 Maugendre's Ambitions. 173 
 
 "Here is the baptism finished, your 
 Reverence; when will the marriage como 
 off?" 
 
 Victor and Clara become, as red as 
 poppies. ]\limile and his little sister 
 clap their hands. 
 
 And, in the midst of the general en- 
 thusiasm, old Louveau, very excited, 
 leans over his daughter's shoulder, and 
 laughing up to his ears in anticipation 
 of his joke, the honest bargeman says, 
 in a bantering tone: 
 
 '' Well now, Clara, now's the time, 
 . . . shall we take Victor back to the 
 magistrate's ? " 
 
 FINIS.
 
 000058223